


Hidden in Cold and Fire

by crazygirlne



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Episode Related, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, Missing Scene, Pre-Relationship, Roughly 1x06 through 1x16, Temporary Character Death, Trust, Vague reference to child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-05-24 05:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6142951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazygirlne/pseuds/crazygirlne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sara.” He avoids her name, sometimes. He knows it carries more than he means it to. “Sara, where are we going?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Leonard Snart doesn’t care for physical contact, in general.

Can’t say his father never gave him anything.

He makes it work for him, though. He wears layers, using excuses if he needs to; with the moniker Captain Cold, of course he needs a heavy jacket, right? He _can_ fight up close, sure, but he prefers ranged weapons; they just have more style.

Unless, of course, it’s Sara Lance who’s doing the fighting.

Forget basic contact. Sara has been getting under his skin since the beginning. She fights like she dances, so much beauty and skill that, for once, he’s holding himself away not because he doesn’t want to touch, but because he _does_.

She’s all heat and sensuality, and he knows if he lets her in, lets himself touch, feel, _care_ for someone other than Lisa or Mick, he’ll lose some of that protection he’s worked so hard for.

Only, it’s too late. He watches her after their latest escapade. While he sips his drink in a corner, she’s laughing, reacting to some joke from the professor, of all people. Her hair cascades over her shoulders. It’s gold with hints of platinum, rich, and it does nothing to assuage his need to touch.

She has armor of her own. It’s part of the attraction, probably, he’ll admit. She doesn’t hide behind clothing, though. Not Sara Lance. She hides behind that same heat that draws him in. She hides behind her confidence, like he does, an assuredness that borders on cocky but that she’s fully earned the right to.

But he’s seen the cracks in her armor. Better – or worse – she’s _shown_ him bits and pieces of what lies beneath, allowed him to see her fears, the version of herself that frightens her the most. She’s let him inside, and even if he’s still afraid to touch, he’s even more afraid to back off.

She listens to him. A trained assassin, she’s no untainted angel of good, as much as she looks it sometimes, but she listens to _him_. The crook. She actually gives a shit what he says, what happens to him.

He knows the reverse is true, as well. As much as he fights it, he’s _already_ let her in, let her get to him. He takes another swig of his drink, going still when she turns toward him, the laughter in her eyes dimming into something more speculative.

She walks toward where he sits. It takes only seconds to cross the common area, but the way her eyes are trained on his, the easy sway of her hips, the cool beer in his hand and the jacket chafing at his neck, they all slow things down, the moment lasting longer than it should and not long enough.

“Hey, Leonard.” She sits on the arm of his chair, completely natural in what should be an awkward angle, her fingers brushing his as she steals his drink. When she tilts her head back to take a sip, it puts her hair within easy reach, and his fingers twitch. She returns the bottle, her skin brushing his again. “Penny for your thoughts?”

He smirks, letting himself give into her teasing tone. “Surely you don’t think you can buy me that cheap.”

She rolls her eyes, smirking right back at him before she grabs his free hand. “Come on, I wanna show you something.”

He sets down the drink, not bothering to protest, not caring how it might look that they’re leaving the room hand-in-hand. Her touch burns, fire to his ice, and he holds on for all he’s worth.

“Sara.” He avoids her name, sometimes. He knows it carries more than he means it to. “Sara, where are we going?”

“Be patient.” She looks back at him, and he smirks at the command in her tone. She grins and keeps leading him, and he tightens his grip. When they stop, she lets go, and he follows suit, working to keep his face passive. “Okay, close your eyes.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. They are in the middle of a hallway on a time ship. Why would he close his eyes?

She rolls her eyes again but steps right in front of him, her face just inches from his and showing almost more understanding than he can handle. “It’ll make it better. Just for two seconds, I promise.” Her mouth twitches as she seems to fight a smile. “You can even count, if you want.”

He chuckles and nods, and when she steps back, he crosses his arms and closes his eyes. “One, Mississippi.” He tries for bored but hears her laugh, hears some sort of metallic clicking noise. “Two, Mississippi.” He waits a moment, then opens his eyes, turning toward where he’d heard her.

There’s an open doorway where before was just a wall.

“Ta-da.” Sara’s gesturing into the room, looking a little unsure for the first time tonight. He walks in. The room isn’t anything extraordinary. It’s maybe 10 feet by 12 feet, and there’s a dusty couch but nothing else. Sara presses a button inside the room, and the door closes behind them. “I know it’s not much, but I don’t think even Rip knows about it. Found it by accident.”

“And why are you showing _me_?” He doesn’t mean it cruelly, and she doesn’t seem to take it that way, moving to the couch and trying to brush off some of the dust.

“It’s a good place to stash stuff, or just to take time alone. Thought you’d appreciate it.” She’s watching him, waiting for a response, and he feels another piece of his armor melt away.

“Thank you, Sara.” Her eyes warm, and that little smile tugs at her lips again, and she moves so the light catches her hair just right, glinting like precious metal.

“Sure thing, Leonard.” He isn’t ready to make a move yet, isn’t ready to take that next step, but when it comes to Sara Lance, he can admit that he wants to touch, to be touched, that he would be a fool not to give in eventually, especially if she makes the first move.

And Leonard Snart is no fool.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He spends some time in the room after what happens with Mick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I had to deal with last night's episode and had a lot of requests to continue this, so I did both. Spoilers for episode 1x07. Changing the fic to incomplete because I'll probably add more, but I'll keep writing them like this, where each chapter could be an ending. I'll also keep it canon compliant as long as I can.

He spends some time in the room after what happens with Mick. 

It takes a lot for Leonard to trust, and he's extended that trust to so few people in his life, so to have one of them turn against him, well... 

He's grateful for the dusty couch and the empty room. At least, he is at first. 

He's not entirely sure how much time passes before the blame and guilt make themselves known. Once they do, though, once the betrayal turns inward, he finds himself in a familiar downward spiral. 

Nobody in his life stays, and he's never been the type of person to blame everything on coincidence. The common factor in everybody leaving him? 

Leonard Snart himself. 

If he hadn't needed to keep Mick with him, hadn't said what he did after getting Mick back to the ship, if he'd gotten to Mick before Sara had, gotten a chance to talk to him... 

Seeing his partner and the woman he cared too much for fighting, seriously fighting, not just training, had been hard to deal with. It was impossible for him to hesitate, to do anything other than fight one of the only people he trusted. 

He closes his eyes, back flat on the couch, hands behind his head, dust tickling at his nose. 

If Sara had just waited, had just given him a chance to talk to Mick, then maybe he could've talked him down. But seeing his partner try to kill her made him cold inside as the last of his hope faded, his hope that maybe Mick had been pulling one over on the pirates, because even if he hasn't said anything, Mick knows how he feels about her. 

He's seen the smirks. 

So now he's here, alone, his partner gone, nothing but a couch to keep him company. Not that he has anything to offer right now. 

Except, he hears a clicking noise as the locking mechanism is disengaged, and then he's not alone anymore. 

"Sara." He doesn't bother opening his eyes, his voice halfway between a greeting and a warning. He hears the door close, doesn't hear her footsteps approaching, but he can feel her standing next to him. 

She sighs, a wisp of breath escaping loudly enough for him to hear, and he feels her lean against the couch. He opens his eyes just enough to see that she's sitting down with her back against the cushions, her hair in easy reach. 

He doesn't feel like touching it right now, not when everyone he touches leaves. 

"Stop it." She sounds almost sad, and he closes his eyes again to make sure he won't see it on her face if she turns. "I can tell you're blaming yourself for what you had to do, even though it had to be done." 

_ You're talking about a member of our team! _

He doesn't respond, but she doesn't seem to expect him to, just keeps talking in the same, even voice. 

"It's not your fault. It's not a bad thing that you didn't try to screw everyone else over."

_ That's not you anymore. _

Another exhalation of breath, then silence. He doesn't want to think about it anymore. Doesn't want to wonder about the trust that's been broken, about whether he can trust the rest of the team, trust  _ her. _ About the fact that he already does trust her more than he should, the fact that she's dangerously close to becoming someone he can count on despite the fact that she played a role in his losing another. 

He remembers instead the last time they were alone. The cold as she huddled against him. Her voice as she described death to him, how glad she was to not be alone. 

How she listened as he explained his relationship with Mick. 

He's not sure whether he makes a sound or she just gets tired of waiting, but when he hears her stand up, he finally opens his eyes, snagging her hand before she can walk away. 

"Don't leave." Maybe he's been in the room longer than he realizes, because his voice croaks. "Not yet." 

She looks down at him, the understanding in her expression both easier and harder to deal with than if he'd seen pity. 

"Okay." She says it simply, like it's no big deal that for the second time in too short a span, they're keeping each other from being alone. 

And maybe, he decides as she slinks back down to the floor without letting go of his hand, maybe it doesn't have to be a big deal at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this at midnight on my phone. I've proofed it a couple times, but it's mostly unchanged, and I'm exhausted, so apologies for any errors.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len deals with what happened at the end of 1x08.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a particularly short chapter; I HAD to write this, but I was also trying very hard not to do anything that would commit the fic to being canon divergent this soon. 
> 
> Angst.

He doesn’t know how long he has before he needs to get back, but he finds himself in that room - _their_ room - anyway. It’s empty, of course, save for the couch, and he tries not to flinch as the door closes behind him.

He can’t quite bring himself to sit, not just because of the lack of time, but also because he’s remembering the last time he was in here, Sara keeping him company because he asked, because Mick was gone.

And now she’s gone, too.

She should be safe, at least, until they get back. Chronos left with the ship, and Sara is more than capable of handling anything the fifties can throw at her. Still, the fact remains.

He is alone again.

This time, he can’t expect her to join him, can’t expect the presence he’s come to rely on much too quickly. He feels a swell of emotion, of anger and guilt and regret and longing, and turns to the wall, bracing his hands against it while he kicks at it repeatedly.

Before he’d come on this damned spaceship, he’d been fine. He’d had Mick, they’d had their weapons, their plans. He was building something, even if it wasn’t as much as he had a chance to on the ship.

He and Mick had started breaking as soon as they’d come on board.

Leonard’s fault.

He forced him onto the damned ship not once, but twice, broken what code he had by replacing it with a simpler one: I’m in charge.

But he isn’t in charge of shit. He couldn’t stop Mick from betraying him. He couldn’t keep Mick on board after that betrayal. He couldn’t keep the damned ship from leaving behind the one person who might help him find his equilibrium in all this.

When he finally stills, resting his forehead against the wall, there’s nothing to show for his outburst save for the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He doesn’t want to be in charge. He doesn’t want to be alone. He wants the respect he can feel building between himself and his teammates, even if the respect is grudging from some. He wants to accomplish what he set out to do, to become a legend in the world he’s helped save; if it falls apart, after all, all the riches and all the fame won’t mean shit.

He wants a partnership, wants _more_ , with Sara Lance.

Mick was the closest he had to a friend for years, but they were never really equals. Leonard was the brain, Mick was the brawn.

Sara, though, she’s his equal in so many ways. They’ve saved each other from outside forces, from themselves, and they’re only just getting started. Now, separated in ways he can’t overcome through sheer strength of will, he wonders whether it’s already too late, whether he’s broken another relationship.

“Damn it,” he mutters, raising a fist and pounding it against the metal just once. He takes a deep breath and straightens, then leaves the room.

There’s work to be done.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara and Leonard have a talk after Left Behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For purposes of keeping this story canon as possible, the last chapter happened during some lull we didn’t see early in the fight for the Waverider.
> 
> Spoilers through 1x09.

The next time he takes refuge in the hidden room, he can’t quite bring himself to look at the section of wall he’d used to vent his anger. He didn’t leave a mark, of course, but some things are worse than they were last time he was in here.

He hadn’t merely abandoned Mick; he’d left him to the devices of the Time Masters, who’d warped him even further, turned him from misguided to...

_I can kill Lisa in front of you, go back in time, kill her in front of you again and again and again._

Door still open, Leonard collapses on the couch, which has been losing its layer of dust. He can’t look at the wall. He avoids the reminder, the knowledge that despite the bad, some things are better than last time he was in here. Some things like the reason he’s left the door open, the door through which Sara Lance is joining him.

She sits next to him, seeming to share in his mood, her movements more subdued than usual. Long minutes of surprisingly comfortable silence pass before either of them speaks.

“I expected to be surprised you didn’t kill Mick,” Sara says, “but I wasn’t. I mean,” she amends, “I wasn’t entirely myself when I found out, either, but still.” She looks at him, and he looks back, the intensity more than he expected. “I wasn’t surprised.”

Leonard nods. “You were one of the ones who didn’t give me a hard time about what I had to do. The others, they _needed_ me to kill him, then were offended when they thought I had.”

Sara laughs, a short huff of breath that’s almost a snort, and he feels his lips twitch in response. “Heroes,” she says. “They’re a pain in the ass sometimes.”

Leonard hums his agreement, then jumps when he feels her pick up his hand, the one that had been missing so recently.

Her voice is low. “Were you trying to save Mick from the rest of the team, or the rest of the team from Mick?”

 _When you froze and then destroyed your hand in order to escape_ goes unsaid. She seems content to let him think through his answer, cradling his hand, palm up, in both of hers. It’s almost uncomfortable, the contrast between her gentle touch and the memory of searing pain.

“Both, I think,” he says finally. He doesn’t say he wasn’t sure who from the team was present, other than Sara herself. She doesn’t ask for further clarification, but he continues speaking anyway. “I wanted Mick dead even less after I knew… Or at least, I didn’t want it to be my fault if something happened to him again. If he was gonna die, I wanted the team to know who they were killing.” He pauses, his fingers curling inward slightly as she runs one of hers across the sensitive skin of his palm. “And I didn’t want to have to choose between being stuck with the version of Mick we’ve got now or staying behind in Nanda Parbat, so I needed the team alive.”

She lets him pretend that selfishness was his only possible motivation, smiling down at his hand as her finger slides down to his wrist, then back up to his palm. He can feel phantom traces of the places she’s touched, a lingering fire she's stoking with her careful caress. She’s not confining him in any way, and he knows he can stop it, should stop it.

Won’t stop it.

“What was it like?” she asks, an echo of his question when they’d been dying together.

He takes a breath, still watching the patterns she’s tracing on his skin. “It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done,” he admits, and Sara pauses for just a second before she continues. “Self-preservation is kinda more my thing than self-mutilation.” Silence falls again, briefly. “What about you?” He doesn’t need to clarify he’s talking about her return to the League of Assassins.

Her eyes flicker up to his, and she smiles wryly. “It was like going home, in a way. I mean, a home that kinda against most of what I’m aiming for these days, but still.”

“I get that,” he says, and before he can really think about it, he’s flipped his hand over, his palm against hers, and laced their fingers together. “Believe me, I do.”

“I know.” She squeezes his hand, doesn’t pull away.

The room grows quiet. He doesn’t need as many words with Sara as he does with others, and yet, he’s more willing to use them. He’s comfortable with her, but she sets him afire, challenges him, makes him _feel_. Her cool blue eyes are burning into his.

The room is quiet, but the tension between them is screaming, and they draw it out, hand-in-hand, until it’s time to rejoin Rip and the rest of the crew.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len struggles with his thoughts during Progeny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know.... two chapters in one day??!? But I left this poor fic alone for weeks, and I've got a few hours to catch up on it, and the chapters are way shorter than I'm used to, but I kinda like it that way for this fic.

He isn’t really serious, not fully feeling himself when he suggests it, even knowing Rip is about to say the same thing, anyway. Murdering children, murdering anyone without specific - and preferably immediate - benefit to him has never been his thing.

He feels Sara’s eyes on him. She knows more than anyone that he’s not handling Mick’s presence well, not dealing with the guilt. If helping kill this kid, especially when Rip seems determined to do it, can save people, can make this infernal hunt easier, then who is he to argue?

It gets harder to keep up the pretense of acceptance when he realizes Sara relates to the child, sees something of herself in the baby Hitler.

It’s even harder when she corners him, forcing him to discuss what’s really going on. She deftly sidesteps his attempt at changing the subject when he mentions his feelings for her. Even though he isn’t entirely earnest in the moment, he has to admit to himself that he’s a little disappointed that she doesn’t take him up on his invitation to discuss whatever’s growing between them.

Later, seeing her held by Savage, knife to her neck, it’s nearly impossible to keep his cool. He knows the man is more than competent or he’d never have been able to grab her in the first place. He knows Savage is willing to kill; he’s already lowered their numbers once. Seeing her in real danger will never be easy.

All of this - Sara, Mick, murder as means of salvation - is on his mind when he finds himself in the little room, trying to find a place to settle his thoughts, to slow his racing heart. He closes the door behind him, needing a place to be alone. He could’ve gone to his bedroom, sure, but then anyone knows where to find him, and he’s still faced with the reminders of Mick.

Here, in this safe space, he paces. He knows Sara is right. He needs to speak to Mick, needs to get past this. He can’t keep living with this guilt.

It had been easier, in a lot of ways, killing his father. His father was never someone he could count on. He wasn’t his friend, his partner, wasn’t someone who’d saved him more times than he cared to count. But Mick…

Mick had betrayed him. 

Leonard had betrayed him right back.

Mick had threatened Lisa.

Mick had tried to kill Sara.

Where would he even  _ begin _ in talking to him? Accusation or apology: he isn’t sure which would be harder.

He doesn’t think any of it will do a damned thing to set them back on the right path, to serve as any sort of resolution. So where does that leave him? He knows he needs to talk to Mick, to make things better, but nothing he can say or hear will make anything better.

He’s left, then, trapped in this ridiculous space where he feels constantly unsettled, uncomfortable in his own skin, only feeling any sort of respite in the brief moments he can forget about Mick, or in the time he spends in silence with Sara.

It all comes back to her, doesn’t it? She’s the reason he attacked Mick, the reason he hasn’t left, the reason he’s trying to make things better.

_ And what about your feelings? _

_ About you? _

His pacing slows. He was far too honest in that moment, and it was a blessing, not a frustration, that she didn’t take him up on that tangent of conversation. He doesn’t think she’ll bring it up again.

But what if she does? His first instinct is to deny everything, to make it clear he was only joking. Then he remembers the touch of her hand. He remembers how she looks at him, how she seems to know when he needs time alone and when he needs prodding. He remembers how she was there for him when he left Mick marooned, alone.

He remembers the understanding in her eyes as she told him he needed to figure things out with Mick.

He stills and sighs, facing the door and composing himself. Words won’t help him and Mick. Actions might. Unlike with him and Sara, though, he knows things with Mick need a bit more than a comforting presence and a hand to hold. He leaves, plan more than half-formed, feeling grateful Sara didn’t follow him and hoping that, assuming he survives the gamble he now intends, she’ll join him the next time he goes to the room.

And even though he can’t even think the word without a bit of a sneer, maybe then they’ll talk about their  _ feelings _ .


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonard and Sara share a quiet moment after The Magnificent Eight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I got around to an update! For this chapter, spoilers through 1x11. Mild liberties with this episode because I *needed* Captain Canary cuddling in their western getups, so pretend they had longer between getting back on board and meeting to talk about the Omega Protocol.

He’d been the last to leave Jax behind, but he’d still left him behind. This time, the team hadn’t shoved their heads up their asses, and they’d found a way to get the kid back, without serious incident. 

He doesn’t really want to think about it much. He much prefers to focus on how Sara looks in her western getup, how much seeing her watch the duel with her fingers crossed had made him want to do inadvisable things. How can someone so lethal make him want nothing more than to wrap his arms around her?

When everything’s done and they’re back on the ship, he meets her eyes in silent question. She nods and slips out of sight. Leonard waits for two minutes in a halfhearted attempt to conceal their rendezvous, then makes his way to the room they’ve made theirs. 

He opens the door to find Sara slumped on the sofa, her hat on the back of it, scarf loosened. He walks past the few things they’ve collected for the room - a deck of cards, a random assortment of knives, a couple small guns - and sits at the other end of the small couch.

Sara yawns, then turns to him, smirking. “I thought you were gonna stay out of trouble this time. I’m not sure shooting someone and starting a war counts.”

“You’re the one who promised we’d stay out of trouble, not me.” Leonard feels no remorse for shooting the man; he’d drawn first, after all, and Stein would probably be dead if Leonard hadn’t taken action. He doesn’t feel censure from Sara, though, only amusement. “Besides, it was hardly a war.”

“Okay, I guess that’s fair.” She scans his face, her lips twitching. “Mick sure did a number on your face, huh?”

“I’ve had worse.” And he has, more times than he can count. At least he came out of their newest adventure unscathed, and so did she.

Sara yawns again. “Here, lean back and move your arm out of the way.” Sara presses against his shoulder, then lifts his arm, the one closest to her. When she shifts as if she’s going to put his arm around her shoulders, he stiffens, torn between the need to escape and the need to move closer.

“What are you doing?” 

“Don’t look at me like that.” She’s watching him, her eyes still dancing, but with an undercurrent of empathy. “I’m tired, I don’t feel like going back to my room, and this is the only way we’ll both fit comfortably. So is this okay or not?”

She hasn’t moved since he tensed, and her hand is still resting lightly on his arm, its presence disconcertingly comforting. Touch will never come easy for him, he’s sure, but it’s  _ Sara _ , and she’s different.

She’s always been different. 

He searches her eyes, and it’s the growing hesitance, the visible worry she’d crossed a line he wasn’t ready for yet, that finally gives him the push he needs to answer.

“That’s fine. Just don’t drool on me if you fall asleep.” 

Sara huffs and makes herself comfortable, failing to hide her smile. She leans against his side, positioning his arm so it runs along her shoulders, his hand dangling on the other side of her. It would be easy to curl his hand, just the slightest bit, and stroke her arm. Before he can decide whether he wants to do that, though, whether he wants to add to his sensory overload, she relaxes her head, her cheek resting against his heart.

Her hair is just inches from his face, and he can smell her shampoo. He can feel her breath slow, the rise and fall of her chest losing momentum as she loses the fight against sleep. He can see the curve of her neck, her hair starting to come loose from its braid.

“That can’t be comfortable,” he says of the angle of her neck, and she presses closer.

“I’ve slept on a lot worse.” She’s slurring now, even more tired than he’d realized, and he takes as deep a breath as he can without disturbing her.

He remembers his earlier urge to wrap his arms around her, and when he exhales, he lets his lingering tension and hesitance go along with his breath. Carefully, slowly, he adjusts until his hand is on her arm, his fingers brushing her western-style shirt. Sara makes a contented noise, something between a sigh and a moan, and he stills, looking down at her.

Despite how close they are, none of their skin is touching, pressed instead against their replicated clothing. It makes it better and worse, having that physical barrier in place. The golden hair he’s admired is so close, so very close. She’s asleep, though, or close to it, and pulling his free hand upward to stroke her hair seems too much. Instead, with a sigh of his own, he removes his hat, tossing it off to the side of the couch, then rests his cheek against the top of her head.

It’s more comfortable this way than he’d have guessed. There’s still a part of him that’s fighting against this much contact, a part that insists he’s only going to get hurt.

That part of him can go to hell. God knows the rest of him is probably headed there eventually.

She’s warm and soft under his arm, and his eyes fall shut as the day catches up with him. He breathes in the scent of her as he finally fully relaxes. 

“Good night, Leonard.”

His eyes fly open at the quiet words against his chest, and they flutter back down as he replies, only dimly aware of the fact that he’s pulled her closer to him.

“Good night, Sara.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, given the events of the last couple episodes of the season, there are two options for this fic starting around Destiny:
> 
> 1) I can stick mostly with canon and wrap up this story, starting another story in the same ‘verse when we see what’s happening next season a bit better. I have a very clear picture of the final chapter if I do this.
> 
> 2) I can break from canon and continue it without a certain event in Destiny. If I do this, I can either continue loosely following along with the episodes (so there would be a hiatus), or I can just say “screw it” and do original adventures, OR I can change what happened but wrap it up, as in option 1.
> 
> I am okay with any of these directions, but I want to know what YOU, my readers, want. This is one of my favorite stories I’ve written, and I don’t want to mess it up. So! Let me know. Comment, or send me a message, or catch me on Tumblr, whatever your preference.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonard and Sara discuss their younger selves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers through 1x12.

“Baby Snart was adorable. Got any threes?”

Sprawled out on the floor across from her, Leonard shakes his head, cards fanned neatly in his hand. “Go fish. Can we  _ not _ talk about how I looked as an infant? That was a very long time ago.”

Sara smirks and draws a card. “You calling yourself  _ old _ , Leonard?”

“I suppose,” he drawls, narrowly avoiding a smile in return. “Got any eights?”

“Nope.” She grins triumphantly.

“Remind me again why we’re playing this game instead of one meant for grownups?” He watches her as she thinks through what was supposed to be a simple question.

“I don’t know,” she says after a minute. “I guess seeing our younger selves made me a bit nostalgic. I know 2007 wasn’t all that long ago, in the grand scheme of things or whatever, but it feels like it was another lifetime.”

“I know what you mean.” Leonard looks down at his cards, not really seeing them. He doesn’t remember firsthand what it was like to be a baby, obviously. Meeting Sara’s younger self had a lot more of an impact on him than meeting his infant self had. 

He’s been aware of their age difference for some time, of course, but Sara’s never seemed young enough for it to really matter. With all she’s seen and done, she’d had to grow up quickly, just as he had.

He hadn’t realized, though, how much longer it took her to get there, how very young she was before her world changed. Thinking about it makes him feel old and broken, but it makes him admire her even more, seeing where she started compared to where she is now. If she’s nostalgic about her younger self, though...

“Why didn’t you try to stop yourself from getting on the boat?” he asks, lowering the cards to the floor so he can focus on her.

Her mouth pulls down to one side as she looks at her cards. “Got any tens?”

He only glances at his cards long enough to hand her the ten, and she’s still and silent as minutes pass.

“Like I said, it feels like another lifetime.” Sara looks up at him and continues. “That version of me died on that ship, and yeah, part of me wanted to save her. But if she lived, what would that mean for me, the me I am now? I wouldn’t exist. I wouldn’t be who I am today, would still be…”

“Unfinished,” he supplies, and her eyes are still fixed on his, and he has that urge again, the urge to take her in his arms and let her see just how much she means to him, just as she is now.

He knows he can’t fight it much longer.

She smiles a little sadly and nods. “Yeah. I mean, obviously, not everyone needs to have traumatic shit happen in order for them to grow up, but for some of us…”

“It’s who we are,” he finishes again. She nods once more.

His thoughts land on Lisa. He protects her as much as he can. He always has. He couldn’t shield her entirely, but he thinks he’s helped keep her away from the darkness that makes him who he is, that makes Sara who she is. He wouldn’t change his sister any more than he would change Sara, but neither would he wish any more darkness on either of them.

He’s still watching Sara, who’s still watching him. The moment draws out, and it feels like, at least for right now, their barriers are down. Neither of them is trying to hide, not from each other and not from themselves. He would feel unbearably exposed, except she’s opened herself to him as well, and it’s the type of exchange he both longs for and dreads, and he can’t find it in him to break the intensity.

Sara does, eventually, blinking and smiling before looking down at her cards. “Got any sixes?”

The intensity takes some time to fade, and it lingers still when it’s time to get back to the team before they’re missed. He feels her hand cover his as he reaches to open the door, and he freezes.

“Hey, Leonard?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

She could be talking about playing cards, about his listening. She could be talking about his supporting her, letting her support him. He knows, though, somehow, that she’s thanking him for letting her through his ice, letting her feel she can remove her own armor, letting this connection between them build, whether it be in friendship or in something else.

“Anytime, Sara.”

Looking over his shoulder, he sees her smile as she lets her hand drop, her fingers trailing along his skin before she breaks contact. He smiles back and opens the door that separates them from the rest of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the input last chapter! It sounds like there’s a unanimous desire to keep Len alive, so I’ve changed the tags on the story to reflect that. Likely 5 or 6 chapters left in this story, unless it demands to keep going, but I’m entirely open to continuing the verse, like a story per season even if it’s AU.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara helps Leonard chase away old memories stirred up by his time with Cassandra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, a lot of chapters close together, but Hulu is about to take 1x14 down, and I like to rewatch before writing each chapter, and then I’m horrible at NOT posting if something’s ready.
> 
> Also, I don’t figure anybody minds much ;)
> 
> Spoilers through 1x13 for this chapter.

Talking to Cassie Savage stirs up more memories than Leonard likes. He feels both satisfaction and sorrow at how easy it was to turn her against her father. He also experiences a short-lived desire to make sure his infant self is kept far away from his own father.

That would leave Lisa unprotected, though, and as he so recently discussed with Sara, it would change him, prevent him from being the man he was today. He might not be a _good_ man, but he was working on becoming an okay one, and he wouldn’t have formed the friendships he had if not for his fucked up childhood.

He definitely wouldn’t be here, now, sitting in a hidden room aboard a time ship, taking up half of a small couch, expecting Sara to join him at any time.

Then again, he wouldn’t be occupied with thoughts of a man who was never worth his time, either.

Something in him relaxes when Sara enters the room. She has that effect on him often. It’s not that unwanted thoughts go away, but they don’t hold as much power over him, don’t make him wish time weren’t quite so stubborn. She helps chase away the desire to go back and either kill his father earlier or make sure he never kills his father at all.

It only takes her a second to read his mood, and instead of grabbing the deck of cards or something to occupy her hands, she makes her way over to the couch and sits next to him, a little closer than he would normally like, but that’s why he was taking up so much of the couch in the first place. When he isn’t up for contact, he either takes up as little space as possible or sprawls out until there’s no room for her to sit.

He knows she’s aware of this, knew it when he sat down, so it’s neither unpleasant nor a surprise for her to be so close that he can feel the heat radiating off her. It is, however, the latest in a long line of temptations regarding Sara Lance.

She likes him, he’s sure, but he doesn’t know in what way. She clearly prefers his company to the company of anyone else on the ship, and she has no problem touching him, only holding back because she knows he isn’t particularly comfortable with casual contact.

What will she do, though, if he gives in to his growing desires? Will she reciprocate? Will she hold back?

Will he lose her altogether?

She leans over, resting her head lightly on his shoulder. It takes a few seconds for him to realize he didn’t tense up at her touch. He turns to look at her. He can tell by the way she’s holding herself that she isn’t asleep, despite the fact that her eyes are closed. A bit of her hair has escaped, falling forward over her face, and before he can stop to think about it, he’s reaching across his body and tucking the strand of hair behind her ear.

He doesn’t let the touch linger, but he doesn’t jerk away, either, and he’s still watching her when she smiles.

“Thanks,” she says. “I know we’ve had worse days than today, but I swear, it felt like today was never gonna end.” She’s silent for several seconds before speaking again. “I know it was harder on you. You were good with Cassandra.”

“What can I say?” He looks away from her face finally, letting his head fall back against the couch so he can stare at the ceiling. “I’m familiar with shitty fathers.”

Sara’s warm hand wraps around his cool one where it rests on his thigh, and he lifts his head to look at her. She’s watching their hands, not his face, and she has that particular stillness about her that she sometimes gets when she’s deep in thought.

“I know I can’t really understand that firsthand,” she says slowly, “but you know if you ever need to talk about it, I’ll listen, right?”

He thinks about the ways he can respond:

_I know._

_I appreciate it more than I can say._

_Kiss me and I promise I won’t be thinking about it anymore._

He dismisses these. He’s so close to ready to try, but today, he just needs Sara, and he needs her to be her normal self, not put off by him being overly sentimental.

“I’m not going to get all sappy over here,” he tells her, playful sarcasm lacing through his tone as his thumb brushes against her fingers of its own accord.

She pulls her hand away so she can smack his shoulder, and he lets her, laughing, pain of the day forgotten, at least in this moment.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's going on inside Leonard's head when he and Sara are hiding from the Time Masters in the space beneath the floor?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than I aim for, but I like setting these in between episodes when possible, and, well, these two are hiding in a little place under the floor in between episodes 14 and 15.
> 
> Angst, this chapter and more in an upcoming chapter. I may do a few chapters for 15 because reasons. 
> 
> Potential trigger warning for claustrophobia for this chapter. Spoilers for episode 1x14. Not a fluffy chapter because I had to get Len in the mental space he needs to be for their first scene in episode 15.

This time, it isn’t their cozy sitting room that Leonard and Sara take refuge in. It's too far, in the wrong direction, and they don't have time to get there. 

Instead, they’re pressed together in a tiny area that would’ve been intolerable with anyone else. As it is, functionally trapped while the rest of the team is taken, being forced to stay in a situation that his gut has been screaming all day for him to escape…

He’s more than a little on edge.

They can’t really even risk talking, can’t distract each other in any meaningful way. He’s stuck instead with his thoughts, jumbled by something that isn’t quite panic.

Sara seems just as tense, and his tension feeds hers, and hers feeds his, and he can feel them both spiraling without either saying a word. 

He closes his eyes - not that it makes much difference given how little light filters through the floor - and tries to focus on the rest of the day. Other than his failed attempt to get the hell out of dodge, and other than the reasons that sparked his escape attempt, it hadn't actually been unbearable. 

He'd spent some time with Mick, the two of them clicking like they hadn't since coming aboard the ship. They'd been on the same page more than once, and the easy camaraderie helped him deal with the sense of impending doom. 

And then there was Sara. She sat right next to him, almost leaning against him, in full few of the rest of the team. He waited for a reaction, but even when they passed that drink back and forth, even when he gave up on sitting stiffly and leaned toward her like he wanted… 

Nobody seemed to give a damn. 

It was part of why they ended up spending time where they had rather than in their typical space. There hadn't seemed any need to hide. 

Besides, he'd still been sure everything was going to go to shit, and he wanted to be where he'd have enough warning to react. 

Now, though, standing in the dark with Sara in front of him, not enough room for either of them to relax, he still can't shake the feeling that something is gonna go wrong, more than it already has. 

He needs to get out, but he can't, not yet. 

He needs to talk to Sara, but he can't, not yet. 

He needs to figure out what the hell is wrong with him, but he can't, not yet. 

He opens his eyes, seeing the faint outline of her in the hints of light that make a halfhearted attempt at penetrating the darkness. She's holding herself as stiffly as he is, her barriers entirely up. 

They have to get out of this space before they both crack. Another time, different circumstances, if he could just shake this feeling, he might finally take advantage of their close quarters. 

Another day, he might close the half-step between them. 

If they didn't have to worry about being found, he might say her name, letting it emerge as a caress without giving a damn who hears it. 

If the world didn't feel like it was ending, he might cover her lips with his, embracing a future he's given up pretending he doesn't want, if she'll share it with him. 

But it's not another day. It's here and now and at the mercy of the Time Masters, and it's waiting until enough time has passed since the last of the footsteps above them stopped. 

It's whispering that it's time to get the hell out of here. 

It's taking a deep breath and turning around before pressing gently, carefully, at the tile that will set them free. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonard takes a few chances to be by himself to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during Destiny; contains spoilers for 1x15.

He takes a moment in the room by himself, while Sara’s talking with Gideon about how to disable the ships that would prevent their leaving.

He doesn’t sit, just stares at the empty sofa, hands shoved into pockets.

He pointed a gun at Sara Lance. He threatened to kill her if he didn’t get his way, and even if she hadn’t bought it, he’d seen the hurt in his eyes as he kept the weapon trained on her, as he tried to convince her he could follow through with it.

_You seem to have a problem with being a killer. I, however, don’t._

The statement is true enough in itself, at least on the surface. He doesn’t have a problem with killing, not if the person deserves it, not if the person is a threat to himself or to the few people he’s willing to actively protect.

But he found himself pointing a lethal weapon at one of those people he cares about, and now he feels like he’s lost control of something.

Himself.

His emotions.

His future.

He resolves to think about it later; right now, Sara needs him, and there’s no way in hell he intends to cause her pain twice in one day, not if he can help it.

He’s also a bit invested in that pesky little thing called survival.

Oo.oO

The idea that all his actions, past and present, have been controlled by those assholes chafes at him, to say the least.

He’s alone again in the room. Sara’s been a bit standoffish, and he can’t say he blames her for it. Still though, even at odds with each other, they’re back on the same page, even finishing each other’s sentences for crying out loud. Again, the team seems to find nothing strange about that, nothing worth noting about the fact they sometimes resemble a school-aged couple who spends too much time together.

He sits, trying to sort through the thoughts that eluded him earlier.

With most of the team back on board, it’s made it clear that Sara is his problem.

Or maybe she’s his solution.

Regardless, she’s the reason he feels like he’s on the edge of something big, some change too monumental to put to words. She’s the reason he feels he can fight his destiny, can become what he chooses, not what fate has decided he must always become.

If everything they’re doing is being manipulated, what does that mean about his feelings for her? What does it mean about his actions, about the lack of them?

If his life is predetermined, it means all of his hangups, his hesitations, his worries are all the fault of the Time Masters.

Well, maybe not _all_ their fault. He doubts even they were responsible for the bastard known as Lewis Snart.

The fact remains, though, that he and Sara are good together, and the Time Masters can’t want that, especially not if that _good_ is fighting against them. What better a “screw you” than to finally give in to his feelings, to put his hesitations aside and let her know what he wants, to find out whether she wants it, too?

He stands, grabbing the deck of cards on his way out. He’s going to find her, and they’re going to talk about their _feelings_.

Oo.oO

He goes back to the room once more after she shoots him down.

Apparently, _her_ feelings were that she was still pissed at him. He’d known she was still upset, and it’s possible he could’ve chosen a better time to finally express, even in that limited way, the attraction that has been gaining momentum from their first meeting.

He doesn’t regret it, though.

_You want to steal a kiss from me, Leonard? You better be one hell of a thief._

Maybe it wasn’t really the rejection it seemed. After all, her only stipulation was that he be a good thief, and she already knows he’s an excellent one.

Maybe it doesn’t matter. It’s going to take a miracle for them to come out of this alive, and he’s finally let her know he’s interested in a future between them, interested in seeing whether their natural chemistry carries over into “me and you.”

The ball’s in her court now, so to speak, and hopefully, she’ll decide she wants to see where it goes, before it’s too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got most of the next two chapters written because I was bouncing around these three. They all take place during Destiny or very shortly after. Just another chapter or two after that.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara is in the room alone after Leonard helps destroy the Oculus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter killed me to write, okay? Angst warning, discussion of major character death, portrayal of grief.
> 
> Reminder: It’s gonna be okay! All will be well very soon!
> 
> In the meantime, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

It’s not the first time she’s ever come to this room alone. It’s been infrequent, though. She can’t be in this room without thinking about the person she usually shares it with.

Leonard.

Not that she wouldn’t be thinking about him if she were somewhere else, which is why she finally gives up and takes refuge in the place that most reminds her of him.

Sara scoops up the deck of cards that perches casually on their pile of things. She can almost see Leonard tossing it there after she refused to play with him. She sits on his side of the couch, tapping the small box against her palm.

It doesn’t feel real, in some ways, Leonard being gone. He was only just here, just talking about a future between the two of them. He had only just pissed her off so much she couldn’t think straight, couldn’t take him up on it when he finally made some sort of attempt at a move.

He had only just sacrificed himself, dying a hero to save the team, to give the whole world - past, present, and future - a choice, free will, the ability to _live._

She stops moving, the deck heavy in her hands.

It feels too real, in some ways, that he’s gone. The room is empty. The ship is quiet, subdued. He’s not there to give her a hard time, not there to comfort her, to challenge her.

He’s not there.

She feels a tear streak down her cheek, and she dashes it away, angry.

This shouldn’t have happened. He was the crook, the one least likely to be a hero; Mick might have done it accidentally, but Leonard had a strong instinct for self-preservation.

But no. Leonard went and got it in his head that he needed to be the one to stay, that he needed to be the one to save his friend, save her, save everyone.

The jerk.

Her body feels too heavy to support, and she turns, sliding down until she’s fully reclined on the little couch. She holds the deck of cards to her chest.

If she had embraced his discussion of the future, would it have changed anything? Maybe he would have been more invested in staying. The look in on his face after she kissed him, the intensity in his blue eyes… Maybe he wouldn’t have sacrificed himself.

That would mean, though, that Mick would be gone instead. She didn’t hate Mick, even actively liked him more often than not, but Leonard had already had to let Mick go more times than he should’ve, and she knew that no matter how much she offered, no matter how hard she bargained, there was no way she’d have been able to talk Leonard into letting his friend be the one to make the sacrifice.

So Leonard had stayed with the Oculus. She left him behind to save herself and Mick, and now Leonard is gone.

Sara ignores the dampness of her cheeks this time. It’s not like anyone’s gonna see her crying. She’s alone.

Her life was manipulated by Time Masters and then Leonard died and now it isn’t. She can do what she wants now, apparently, as long as it doesn’t have anything to do with him.

She hasn’t slept on the couch alone before, and it feels like it’s sucking her in, pulling her down, and she doesn’t care. She’s been through shit before, and she knows she’ll get through it, get past this even if he never gets the chance. She’s strong, and she knows it, and as much as part of her wants to just let go and fall apart, she knows she won’t.

She can give herself today, though, and so she lets go for now, lets the couch hold her like Leonard hasn’t and now can’t, and she falls into a restless sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonard finds himself very much not dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, let’s get things fixed! Just one chapter after this, more epilogue than anything.

The only place free will really existed was at the Vanishing Point. And when Leonard Snart was at the Vanishing Point, one of the things he most wished for with that free will, the one thing most prominent in his final thoughts thanks to that goodbye kiss, was more time with Sara Lance.

There was a blinding light before everything went dark, shutting out the sight of the Time Master in front of him, the machine beside him.

It doesn’t stay dark for long, though. He can feel the Oculus inside his mind, latching onto his final thoughts. There’s a painful tug, a twisting pull as it feels like his entire body turns inside out, and he sees glimpses of the past, of the future, of what could have been and what never will be. He’s ripped into an infinite number of pieces and flung to the place and time he’d been thinking about last.

He gasps, trying to catch his breath, and he finds himself unharmed in their room, the little hideout he and Sara share. Sara is on the couch, her eyes closed, her cheeks shining in the ship’s artificial light.

He spares only a moment of thought as to whether or not this is real; it doesn’t change his actions either way. He walks over to the couch, swallowing at the sight of the Canary dealing with such grief, at how tightly she’s clutching a silly deck of cards to herself.

“Sara,” he murmurs, not caring how much emotion escapes with her name. When she doesn’t move, he tries again. “Sara, wake up.”

She sniffs once before opening her eyes, looking up at the ceiling instead of looking around for him. Can she not hear him? He’d accepted death when he changed places with Mick, but he wasn’t sure how well he’d handle it if he was essentially a ghost.

“Sara,” he tries once more, and she blinks, her eyes finally tracking away from the ceiling and toward him.

“Leonard?” It’s almost an exhalation of breath, barely a whisper, and she’s frozen, unmoving.

Until she isn’t. With her typical speed and lacking only a little of her typical grace, she practically leaps from the couch and flings her arms around him, smacking him in the back of the head with the deck of cards.

“Ow,” he protests with a chuckle.

“Sorry,” she says without loosening her grip. After a moment, he wraps his arms around her, returning the embrace, ducking his head down to rest on her shoulder.

“You were dead,” she mumbles into his chest. “You died today, you asshole.”

“Apparently not,” he replies. “I guess if you’ve gotta be blown up, it helps to be blown up by a machine that manipulates time.” It’s the best explanation he’s got, and she seems to accept it.

Another minute passes in silence before he’s had a bit too much of the box pressing into his head. He straightens and reaches behind him, taking her hands and bringing them between their bodies. She lets him without protest, and she allows him to take the offending deck of cards and toss it on the couch.

With her other hand still in his, he can see she’s wearing his ring. “Where’d you get this?” he asks, lifting her hand slightly to indicate what he’s inquiring about.

“Mick gave it to me.” Sara looks down at their hands. “He said it didn’t fit on any of his fingers, and that he kinda thought you’d like me to have it anyway. I can give it back, now that you’re here.”

Mick. The man had really forgiven him. If anyone on that damned ship had a reason to hold a grudge, it was his old partner, his old _friend_ , and he’d forgiven him to the extent that his final apology had been met with confusion.

_For what?_

“Keep it,” he says to Sara, shaking his head and running a thumb across the bright metal of the ring. “It suits you. Besides, as I said, it’s a reminder that things don’t always go according to plan.”

Her mouth pulls up to one side, something between a smirk and a genuine smile as she meets his eyes. “Did _I_ not go according to your plan?”

He pauses for only a second before he reaches up toward her face, brushing his thumb across her still-damp cheek. He searches her eyes as he tucks her hair back behind her ear, and what he sees there allows him to trail his fingers down and back, until he’s cupping behind her neck, thrilling in the goosebumps on her skin and the heat in her gaze.

“I didn’t exactly come on this ship planning to fall for a former assassin, no.”

Her lips twitch. “I guess you weren’t really part of my plan, either.”

“Is that a problem?”

She chuckles. “No, I’m kinda very okay with how things are going between us right now. I’m still kinda mad at your for dying, though.”

He hums his agreement, stroking the soft skin of her neck with his thumb. “I promise not to do it again anytime soon. Now, about that kiss at the Oculus…”

He leans in, stopping when she laughs. “As much as that does seem like a good plan, shouldn’t we let the team know you’re alive first? They’re kinda torn up about it.”

He does want to let the team know, especially Mick, but there’s also Sara, and she’s already here, and she’s so close he can feel her breath against his skin. “Five minutes,” he says finally, closing the gap between them, moving just slowly enough that she can pull away if she doesn’t want this half as much as he does.

She doesn’t pull away.

When they come up for air, Sara’s arms are wrapped around him again, her breath ragged. “We can wait ten minutes instead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is mostly written, but I have to step away from the computer for a few hours. I couldn't leave you on that last chapter, though!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, our fairly fluffy conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for reading! I appreciated every comment, all the kudos, the feedback, the support. If you’d like to see me continue this with season 2 when it starts back up, let me know! I intentionally didn’t go far into their future so that it would leave it open to work him/them into rewrites of the S2 episodes, as much as LoT’s writers allow :)

The rest of the team doesn't accept his return quite as easily as Sara does. Maybe it's because she's died and come back once, herself.

He's grilled repeatedly on how he got back, on how he survived, even on whether it's really him. He answers with what little information he has until he runs out of patience, and eventually, they accept that he's back. They accept that he's still there.

Through almost every argument, Sara is by his side. She insists it doesn't matter what happened. She says they’re on a time ship, for crying out loud, and is this really so hard to believe? He came back, he didn't come back wrong, and the only thing that really matters in the end is that he's _there._

And he is.

He’s there when her father tells her about Laurel. He isn’t in the room at first; Sara had asked that he wait just outside the door, to give her a moment alone with her dad before she explained Leonard’s presence. He gives the two of them some time before he joins them, but then he doesn’t leave Sara’s side until she makes him.

He’s there when she attacks Rip, there to catch her when she falls, there to threaten Rip himself while he holds Sara safe in his arms.

He’s there when she visits Laurel’s grave, when she’s holding his hand so tightly that he genuinely thinks she might break something. He doesn’t pull away, not then, not when she collapses against his chest, not when Quentin Lance gives him a look that’s somehow both appreciative and glaring. He only wraps his arms around her and gives what comfort he can, trying hard not to wonder how he would feel if it were Lisa.

He’s there to help her maintain her light when the darkness threatens to consume her.

And he does it all gladly, because she's there, too.

She’s there when he reunites with Lisa, though the two of them immediately begin conspiring against him.

She’s there the next time he comes across the Flash, and she tips the scales in the wrong direction when Barry seems torn, because he’s _Barry_ , between hugging him or punching him. She’s there to help him avoid pulling his gun on the touchy-feely speedster after the unwanted contact, only laughing a little as she tells Barry he probably shouldn’t do that again.

She’s there when he and Mick butt heads, reminding him how much he needs the idiot in his life. She makes him feel better by drinking the bigger man under the table, easily.

She’s there when the nightmares wake him, waiting until he’s ready for contact before she helps him chase the memories away.

“When did you know?” he asks her one night. They’re on their couch, with his arm around her, her head on his chest, and more prolonged skin contact than he’d ever have thought he could handle.

“When did I know about what?”

“That you wanted _this_ between us.” He trails his fingers along her bare arm and feels her smile.

“When I asked you to dance,” she answers. “I mean, I didn’t know we’d have _this_ , exactly. I knew we’d at least have fun.” She shifts so she can see his face. “What about you?”

He smirks. “The first time I saw you fight, _after_ you asked me to dance.”

She huffs. “I knew you only liked me for my fighting skills,” she says lightly.

He remembers that night, her easy grace, her confidence, her ability to ask for help when the fight might’ve gotten out of control.

He remembers how easily they fell into a pattern, how the fight had felt almost like the dance he’d declined.

He remembers the moment he realized she could kick his ass anytime she wanted to.

Nothing is perfect. Their world will never be tied up with a tidy little bow.

But the two of them, Leonard Snart and Sara Lance, Captain Cold and the White Canary, are together, and some days, that’s all that matters.


End file.
